


Do you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?

by SummerSnow888



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Basically Erik is Mr. Bennett, Charles becomes a Regency housewife when drunk because why not, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Erik is a put-upon husband, Fluff, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:28:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerSnow888/pseuds/SummerSnow888
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"YOUR TERRORIST ACTIVITIES DO NOT PUT BREAD ON THE TABLE, ERIK!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [takiki16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/takiki16/gifts).



It was two in the morning when Erik snuck into the mansion.  No, not snuck.  Erik was a grown man without a curfew.  This was _his_ mansion (well, at least part of it was).  There was no need for him to sneak around like a common thief.  No, it was two in the morning when Erik confidently-yet-subtly entered the house with a clean conscience and self-assured bearing.  Deciding to pour himself a quick nightcap before going to bed, Erik headed to the kitchen. 

The true account of exactly what happened next has been lost forever to history, overwhelmingly fragile male egos, and spousal squabbling.

Officially, Erik flicked on the kitchen lights, only to unexpectedly find his dearest, most beloved husband sitting unamusedly at the kitchen table.  He most definitely flinched noticeably, and on good days, he might concede to letting out a choked gasp of shock.  In no way did he shriek like a small child and jump several feet into the air.  Erik categorically denied it every time he was confronted with the event.

 “Hello, Erik.”

 Erik flinched noticeably and maybe let out a choked gasp of shock.

 “Charles!  I - I did not think - why are you still up?”

 Charles swirled his tumbler of amber liquor slowly, sardonically, _judgmentally_.  He fixed Erik with a Confrontational Glare, complete with Arched Eyebrow.  

 “Funny, you know.  I could ask the same of you.   _Darling_.”  

 Well, the passive-aggressive terms of endearments were getting broken out early.  Erik swallowed.

 “ _Liebling_ , I -”

 “Tell me, _dear_ ,” Charles cut in.  “When I turn on the television tomorrow morning, what kind of chaos and destruction will greet me as I put the coffee on?”

 “ _Mein Herz_ -”

 Charles threw back the remaining liquor and slammed the glass back down on the table.

 “Will it be the Brooklyn Bridge transformed into a colossal heap of abstract art?”

 “ _Schatz_ , the -”

 “Or perhaps the Empire State Building reduced to a pile of rubble?”  Charles plowed on, pouring himself another two - three? _four_? - fingers of scotch.  His words were slurring.  How much had he had?

“Charles -”

 “Or will it be the _Statue of Liberty, divested of her garments and missing an arm?!?_ ”

 Frankly, Erik was quite disappointed that Charles even thought he would stoop that low.  He would _never_  leave a lady exposed thusly, for literally all the world to see.  The amputation, on the other hand.  Now _that_ was a lovely idea.  Pity he didn’t think of it earlier.  But that would have to wait.

 “ _Süsse_ , -”

 “ _Dammit_ , Erik!”  Charles shouted, slamming his hand down on the table and swaying slightly in his seat.  “When are you going to get a real job?  Your terrorist activities do _not_ put bread on the table!”

 

...What.

 

“You’re out _all hours of the night_ , doing _God-knows-what_ ,” Charles bemoaned, “while _I_ am left _all alone_ to raise the children.”

 Erik noticed, a little too late, the half-empty bottle of scotch sitting off to the side of the table.  Well, that explained the melodramatics.  Not that Charles ever really _needed_ an excuse for being a “drama queen,” as the children said, but Charles tended to not act like a put-upon Regency housewife unless alcohol was involved.  Best to let him vent, then.

 “Have you paid _any_ thought to the children, Erik?   _Have you?!?_  There are _mouths to feed_ and _bodies to clothe_ , and we have _two near-unmarriageable daughters_ that we must provide _ample dowries_ for, and while I am busy caring for our children’s emotional well-beings and nurturing their talents, what are you doing?   _Blowing up Parliament_.”

 “... _Geliebter_ , Parliament’s in -”

 “ _I know bloody well where Parliament is!!_ ” Charles exploded.

 Erik tried a different tack.

 “Charles, _liebling_ , I would never -”

 “Never _what_?” Charles snapped, cheeks flushed with anger and alcohol.

 Erik slowly moved to sit down across from Charles, palms lifted upwards and outwards, as though placating a spooked animal.

 “I would _never_ leave you to raise the children alone.  I love them too much.  I love _you_ too much,” Erik finished as he took Charles’s hands into his own.  There were a few moments of silence as Charles considered Erik’s words with narrowed eyes, and Erik hoped beyond hope that Charles was appeased.

 “... _Are you cheating on me??_ ”

 

 “...What.”

 

“I knew it!” Charles roared.  Erik winced, praying that the children had not been disturbed by their little... _domestic_.  They would never let him live it down.  “You don’t love me at all, do you?  You only married me for my money!  And now you’re no doubt off gallivanting with some little tart on the side while living more than comfortably off my dowry, aren’t you?  Well, Erik, _we cannot live off of my dowry forever!!!_ ”

 Erik was flabbergasted.  First off, all things considered, they probably _could_ live off Charles’s money forever.  There was quite a lot of it.  But that was besides the point.  How had the conversation devolved thusly?  How was this even his life.  Not three years ago, he was a rage-fueled, Nazi-hunting bachelor, and now here he was.  Married.  With children.  And having a bewildering Regency-themed argument with his dearly-beloved husband.  In which he was being accused of being a gold-digger.

 “Charles, _mein Herz, mein Schatz_ , of course I didn’t marry you for your money.  I would never dream of taking advantage of you in such a way,” Erik murmured in what he hoped was a soothing voice.  There was a reason why it was to Charles and not him that the children ran to in times of emotional distress.

 Charles seemed to settle down a bit at this reassurance.  He had stopped shouting, at any rate, and for that, Erik was infinitely grateful.  Victory was nigh.  “You see, _schönster geliebter_?  I love you.  Should you lose your fortune tomorrow and we were cast out on the street, I would love you still.  All I want, Charles, is to be able to wake up every morning and see your beautiful blue eyes.”  There.  Nailed it.

 “...Did you marry me for my _looks?!?_ ”

 

How.  What.  Erik did not.

 

“What will happen when my good looks fade?  Are you just going to leave me for some shameless little blue-eyed _strumpet_?”

 “ _Nein, nein, liebling_.  You are the one true love of my life, and I would be with you until the end of my days.”

 “ _Sweet lies!_ ” Charles wailed, somehow managing to stagger upright.  “Pretty falsehoods, meant to trap me in this loveless marriage.  Well, no longer, I say!”  Charles declared as he stumbled away from the kitchen table.  Erik rushed to follow his husband, ready to catch him lest he fall and crack his head open on the hardwood flooring.  Charles marched towards the staircase in what Erik could only assume what Charles thought was a resolute, no-nonsense fashion.  “From the first moment I met you, _Herr Erik Lehnsherr_ , your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I would ever marry!”

 Erik was about to point out to Charles that they were, in fact, already married, but it was at that precise moment that Charles chose to pass out.  Erik managed to catch him before he brained himself on the edge of the stairs and began the arduous process of wrestling a fully-grown man that was dead to the world into a bridal-style hold and carrying up the stairs.

 He heard Raven before he saw her, the quiet click of her bedroom door closing shut echoing faintly against the wood-paneled walls.  The hall light flickered on and she appeared at the top of the stairs, soft blonde hair glowing in the warm lamplight as she leaned against the railing.

 

“He’s been watching a bunch of period dramas when you’re gone.  That Jane Austen BBC stuff.”

 Ah.  Well that explained the near-verbatim quoting of _Pride and Prejudice_.

 “And I mean like, _a lot_.  He finished all the BBC adaptations, and then he moved on to the older film adaptations, and then the newer film adaptations, and then he actually started watching that one movie about Jane Austen, you know the one, it’s got Anne Hathaway in it and that guy that we all say looks a lot like him, even if neither of you seem to get it.”

 Erik gritted his teeth.

 “Raven, if you aren’t going to help, I suggest you go back to your room.”

 Raven smirked and flounced off, but not before saying, “You know, Erik, the way you’ve been carrying on, I won’t be surprised if Angel and I will be forced to run off with an officer the next time a brigade comes to town.  After all, with a father figure off gallivanting all hours of the night, how ever will we manage to have a respectable dowry?  Or put together a hope chest?”

 Erik hated everything.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Charles woke up with a pounding headache.  He had no idea how he got to his bed, but, as expected, Erik was not there.  Grumbling, he sat up slowly, groaning as the sudden change in verticality caused a most unpleasant blood rush.  He managed to shuffle his feet into slippers and was about to stumble down to the kitchen to grab some eggs and bacon and coffee when he tripped over a mysterious lump on the ground.

 “Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake!”

 Charles picked himself up with the grace of a beached hippo and crawled over to inspect exactly what it was he tripped over.

 It was a lump of gold.  Well, it was a wooden box, in which a sizable lump of gold was enclosed along with a note.

 

_Mein Geliebter,_

_I realize that I have not been adequately supporting this family, be it financially or emotionally.  In order to compensate for my shortcomings as a father figure and spouse, please accept this gold nugget.  I do not wish for my daughters to run away with an officer, nor do I wish to give you the impression that I married you for your money and will leave you for a young blue-eyed strumpet at the nearest available opportunity.  Additionally, I wish to assure you that I do not, in fact, have a little tart on the side.  I love you and you alone._

_Erik_

 

Charles maintains that his next words were spoken only from a place of deep pain, resultant of both a massive hangover and the direct impact of his knees and palms and forehead against parquet hardwood flooring.

  
“ _ERIKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!  I TRIPPED OVER YOUR STUPID BLOODY LUMP OF GOLD.  ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME SO THAT YOU MAY TAKE MY MONEY AND RUN OFF WITH YOUR UPJUMPED LITTLE HUSSY_.”


End file.
